


Who Is In Control?

by PastelBlueDahlia



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Depression, Emotional Hurt, Light eating disorder, Mental Health Issues, Pain, Panic Attacks, Self-harming tendencies, Teen Viktor, Viktor is afraid to disappoint everyone, Why Viktor cut his hair, supportive parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-27
Updated: 2017-03-27
Packaged: 2018-10-11 18:30:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10471332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PastelBlueDahlia/pseuds/PastelBlueDahlia
Summary: Viktor could never put a finger on what caused his mood swing. Sometimes he would be euphoric, giggling like an idiot, and in the next moment he felt as if someone had chopped off a part of him, something that was not physical or visible, but gone.He was under constant pressure, the pressure to fascinate, to captivate the audience, to make them feel and think what he wanted them to. When he heard those people trying to judge how far he will come and the friendly praises he always felt a cold chunk of ice in the pit of his stomach that froze his expression into a smile.





	

 

 

 

„Vitya, go out here and make me proud. Just do it like you always do in practice and everything will go well.“

Yakov stood there like a rock, arms crossed and wearing his usual grumpy expression on his face, like nothing could ever change it. Viktor smiled at him, quickly tapping on his shoulder.

„I'm off.“

He gracefully skated in the center of the rink while the cheers accompanied him, taking in his starting position and letting out one final breath before he slipped out of his cheerful role. As the music started heavy, melancholic notes filled the icy air that erased every other sensation except his own body and the ice. He poured everything on the ice: his movements, his breath, his training, everything. And then even more: every time he failed to land a jump, every time he was getting seriously shouted at, the pain of his hips, legs, arms, spine and whole body that hurt like an overstretched chord. He left everything that made him vulnerable and weak on the ice and hoped that somebody would understand and accept him. He was out of breath, but it only matched his performance. Viktor felt as if he would break apart at any moment, the graceful movements and desperate expression a silent goodbye.

By the time the routine ended his knees and hands trembled, a cold shiver running down his spine as he stood in the center, trying to catch his breath as the cheers overpowered him and made his ears ring. It was the complete opposite from the dark, quiet rink just a couple of seconds ago, and he struggled to find his way into this bright and loud reality, where he didn't feel weak and weightless.

He skated to Yakov, who stood there like he hasn't even breathed since he got on the ice. But a little smile tugged on the corners of his mouth, and he knew he had done something right. Viktor let out a shuddering breath that sounded like a whimper and blinked the wetness in his eyes away, feeling the relief and satisfaction from a perfectly skated routine.

 

 

However, when he was alone in his room late at night after the banquet, after thousands of photos, fake smiles, polite conversations and interviews, something was off. It was a tiring, satisfying day. But still. Viktor could never put a finger on what caused his mood swing. Sometimes he would be euphoric, giggling like an idiot, and in the next moment he felt as if someone had chopped off a part of him, something that was not physical or visible, but gone.

One time when he felt particularly bad he turned on the TV, late at night when his parents were out. He couldn't focus on anything, but one word suddenly piqued his interest, got through the muddy air around him, reached him like a helping hand. _Depression._

He shivered at the thought, but couldn't turn the TV off. Instead, he focused on the red little light on the DVD recorder, as if that would stop him from hearing. His heart thumped loudly against his ribcage, and he didn't know how long he listened to all these symptoms that seemed to describe him.

Viktor told himself that it was normal to feel this way.

He was in the bloom of his teens, the transition from a boy to a man. And he especially would go through a tough time, he knew it. He was always rather fragile and small, didn't have broad shoulders or beginning facial hair. But instead of hiding his weakness, he enhanced it. What if he had a girly face and smooth pale skin? Why not put make up on it? Why not wear long hair?

Viktor knew that this was unusual, but somehow he liked those looks of shock, the disbelieving, scanning eyes, the pointing fingers and quick turns away from him, just so their gaze would immediately be drawn back to him.

But sometimes, in those times, he was afraid.

Afraid to disappoint, afraid that those looks would someday determine that he just wasn't interesting enough, that he was interesting in the shock moment, but wasn't special after that. Viktor was under constant pressure, the pressure to fascinate, to captivate the audience, to make them feel and think what he wanted them to. He knew that it wasn't about talent, technique or passion, the main reason why he was allowed on the ice was that he could surprise, people loved him for it and expected it from him. From his skating, costumes, music, appearance to performances, everything about Viktor stood out of the mass.

Nobody could be unbiased when it came to him, he was young but for everyone it was already set in stone that he would be one of the best skaters in history. When he heard those people trying to judge how far he will come and the friendly praises he always felt a cold chunk of ice in the pit of his stomach that froze his expression into a smile. It was like they already decided his future, and he had to live up to these expectations of these strangers, or else they would throw him away without a second look.

There was also the fact that he had to get a decent education if he wanted to continue to skate. No, not decent. He had to be at least one of the top five of his class or his parents wouldn't support him. Sometimes it felt as if they were prying sharks, just waiting until they could finally snatch the thing away that he loved the most. It was especially bad when he was tired from training, or school, or just a little quieter than usual.

„You can always just quit if you want, we won't blame you.“ _You want me to give in so I'm a better puppet, and I would blame myself for that the rest of my life._

„We support you by everything, we love you.“ _But your love has conditions, and as long as I'm not acting up or making any mistakes you support me._

„Vitya, please think more about your body. I can't stand to see you in pain.“ _I'm always in pain._

Those thoughts haunted him in his weak moments, some that got so dark that he started crying and hating a little part of him more for turning the loving support and encouragement into something they weren't. But he couldn't stop.

 

  


 

Covered in a blanket he sat in his bed, shivering hard, his teeth clacking against each other.

_Why is this happening now?_

Everything went good, great even. He won the silver medal. He wasn't bad.

_But is it enough?_ , asked the low voice in the back of his head.

His mind couldn't focus on anything, there were a million thoughts and pictures, he didn't even have enough time to fully understand their meaning, he was so completely overwhelmed that he whimpered, but then pressed his hand strongly on his open mouth to muffle the sounds. His body was too small to contain him, he felt restless, itchy, _in pain_. The air was not enough, he couldn't breathe and his bones hurt. His heart squeezed, it felt as if there was just a black, empty hole that sucked him away.

He stood up, walked through the corridor to the living room and from there opened the balcony door, not even bothering with putting slippers on his bare feet. He looked over St. Petersburg, the city still bright and shimmering but so dead. It felt like he was completely alone in his home, in this city. Viktor tried to breathe calmly, sort his thoughts.

_Something is wrong with me. I feel so old. That's not normal. What should I do._

Viktor squeezed his eyes shut. He thought of all the times when he couldn't bring himself to eat. How his stomach was so painfully empty, but every thought of food, eating, taste, texture and even the origin of the food made him pale and nauseous.

He thought of the times the boys in his class would talk about perverted stuff. And how he only could laugh and fake a smile, because he didn't feel any of those desires, how he tried to tell himself that those thoughts would definitely come when he got older. He thought about their gazes he could feel on his body, scanning, checking, like they wanted to make sure he was a boy.

He thought about the people who he loved, who he cared about, but who always seemed so far away that he could only really reach them through surprising them. How genuine, happy and shocked they would look at him, not hidden behind this invisible wall that seemed to separate him from the others. How proud they would look, like he was really a mystery that nobody, not even them, could figure out.

Even though he could pull those honest expressions out of them, he felt that the act he played for the audience was also directed at the people close to him.

But it was so hard to break that role. Viktor was scared that they had already forgotten how he really was, and would be disappointed. That they would rather see a confident, cheerful Viktor than a quiet, weak Viktor who only wanted to skate.

Was it normal to be unable to wake up in the morning? That the only thing that kept him going was the overwhelming fear to make a mistake, to regret something, to disappoint? Was that the life he had wished for? Was it normal that he always felt tired, and didn't have enough motivation to do anything besides skating, going to school and studying? The pain in his legs, knees, hips, back, chest and head seemed to whisper „ _You are not invincible. When you get older people younger by two or three years will take your place. You don't have the body to do this, just stop, rest, be weak already.“_

But Viktor kept gritting his teeth. Kept pulling through it all.

But for what? For fans that will forget him if he stops skating? For his parents, who only want their child to be happy and healthy? For Yakov, who thinks he has the next genius in his team? His whole body shook because of the cold. Slowly he sank down on his knees, not knowing what to do. He wanted to pull something out of him, to vomit his whole life out, to sleep and rest for a hundred years, maybe never waking up. He went to the kitchen, not knowing what he searched or wanted, he just felt that he would burst if he wasn't moving. The tears on his cheeks felt hot, sticky. _Weak_.

Viktor pulled open the drawers, searched for something, then a silvery long knife caught light. His heart thumped against his ribcage, he was so suffocated, he thought that he wanted to tear himself apart and just _breathe_. He was scared of his own thoughts.

Viktor just wanted to breathe. If he did this, if he went that step, it was hard to go back. Would it relieve him? Would it help? He already thought of ways to hide it beneath his clothing, what kind of lies he could tell so nobody would think anything of it.

In his mind he already practiced the way his lips should curl to make them believe.

He pulled his sleeve up, revealing pale, almost white skin. The blue vein on his arm seemed so weak. It seemed as if it would contain his pain, his happiness, his passion, memories, and if he cut it open it would bubble out of him. He gently touched his skin, thinking about where to cut, in his mind already sorting the clothes out he couldn't wear anymore after this. He shivered from the touch of his cold fingertips. It didn't feel like his own hand. It was as if someone else wanted to cut him open, to hurt him.

Viktor felt that he would steal something from someone that was not him.

He strongly gripped his wrist, knees weak. I can't do this. I can't. _I can't._

Unable to stand he sat down on the cold kitchen tiles. He looked up, tears overflowing, body rocking back and forth.

Viktor felt like a goldfish in a big tank. They all would stare at him, maybe slightly knock on the glass to get his attention, but they could never really reach him. Why was there always this wall between him and other people? Did really nobody care about him, about the real him? He whimpered and grabbed his hair tightly, pulling at it as if he could get rid of his thoughts like this. He just wanted the pain to distract him.

A hot, red anger flooded through him.

Suddenly he stood up, searching for scissors. Holding them in one hand, he gulped. Then he slowly held his hair up in a tight ponytail, purposely pulling hard so he had to grit his teeth to stay silent. In a flash he saw his parents, the rink, Yakov, his school, his fans, the blinding lights reflecting on the ice.

He had to get rid of some part of him.

Viktor couldn't stop to give the audience a surprise, he had to live up to their expectations at any cost. But that didn't mean that he couldn't determine what kind of surprise it would be. Maybe it was all pointless. But Viktor swore himself that he would surpass every expectation, that he would take everything in his own hands, his costumes, his appearance, the music and the story he would tell on the ice. He would become independent, so that maybe he could finally feel like he had the control in his life. Viktor wanted to change, wanted to become strong and never drown in this spiral of desperation other people, or rather, the distance to others caused.

He almost chuckled as the first thick strand of hair fell to the floor. Viktor thought about everyone when they would see him like this, how he would surprise and shock them. When he did something so drastic, then maybe somebody would realize what was going on, how he felt. Maybe somebody would speak to him in a calm voice, in a quiet place, wanting to know everything about him.

He didn't want help. But Viktor wanted someone who listened. Who saw him, and saw something in him that was truly worth to be noticed, that was worth to be acknowledged. Viktor wasn't sure that he even had something like that.

When he was ready, he picked up his hair, walked to the balcony and threw it outside, the cold wind blowing through his clothes. His head felt so incredibly light, free.

He was calm.

There was nothing to think about anymore, he made up his mind. Silently shutting the balcony door, Viktor went back inside his room. He laid in his bed, letting out a sigh, waiting, but no thoughts would come. He could finally breathe. As his eyes closed he smiled one rare genuine smile and tried to hold this memory.

The Viktor of that time didn't know that he would have countless chances to smile genuinely in the future.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I hope you enjoyed or at least related a bit with Viktor's thoughts. The title and some parts are inspired by the song "Control" from Halsey.  
> If you see any mistakes please point them out to me so I can improve myself! (Because I'm not fluent in English)


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